Game

The bathroom, like most high school bathrooms, smells like urine and mold. The sea green walls and florescent lighting make the entire environment feel sick and hopeless. Looking into the mirror, I feel sick and hopeless, too.

My round-collared button down shirt is wrinkled and stained. My plaid skirt twists and pulls around my waist. As I tug my sinking sock - the final atrocity of this cliche, ugly uniform - I wiggle my toes in my pinching Mary Janes. I can't wait to get home and out of this suffocating costume and every bad, angry thing it represents.

I run my fingers through my matted, sweaty hair and choke back the stench of vomit and bleach radiating from the sink. I close my eyes and focus on the symphony of the sputtering air conditioner and rhythmic drip of a leaky sink. Toilets hum and cough. Pipes slosh.

Voices.

My spidey sense tingles to the tune of the low whispers. Female voices. Of course. This is a woman's bathroom, after all. But any female can mean only mean bad things for me right now, and with my heavy sighs and careless, stomping entrance, I know those muttered conspirings could only be about me.

They come from the other end of the large bathroom, twenty stalls or more deep. The whisperers themselves stand next to the outside door, my path to freedom. I can't go through the door that led me into this stinking sanctuary - that door leads back to the inside of the school, and knee deep into more trouble than the two conspirators can bring. No, I have to go through that outside exit, the one that will take me across the lacrosse field, over the chain link fence, and out of this hell hole. But to get through that door, I have to get through these girls. Whoever they are.

Light, light steps carry me to the wall of the nearest stall, so they would be coming around the corner toward me, and I would have the element of surprise. Whether I want to or not, I know what I have to do, and I am prepared to do it.

The whisperers bite a final conclusion. Minds have been made up and plans have been formed. Tight, military style tip toes carry one girl out my escape route (MY escape route. The glowing exit sign has become my guiding light, and the fresh air on the other side the final stage of this dirty video game) The other girl pauses, as if to gather resolve. Then, on quick mouse feet, she heads toward me.

I am ready.

As she nears the last stall, I tense, and as soon as I see a flash of gray wool sock, I swing my arm around the corner with a strength I didn't know I had. My elbow locks and the heel of my hand tears upward, connecting with her nose and knocking her backward. I feel the softness of her skin, the moistness of her mouth, and I feel the cartilage of her nose give way under my palm. He head flies back and her eyes pop open. I recognize her crunchy, red died hair and her smeared blue eye shadow. I recognize her small, mousy frame and whiny, smug voice, the one that whimpers now. I had seen her smile as she held the plastic bag over Diana's head, and watched her as she tightened the cord from the window blind around Melanie's neck. She knew, as I did, that I knew too much. And I must have been the only one left now, if she was finally coming after me.

"Sarah."

I say her name, but I don't know why. I don't want to reason with her, befriend her, or even taunt her. Sarah is not a girl who one could really trust, especially not in a game like this. Besides, I had just broken her nose. She knew it was on. I said her name to label her, to feel the bitterness of all that she was in my mouth. It is resolve to help me get through this, this that I have to do.

She steps back, both hands clutching her face. Blood pours out from between her fingers. All I see of her face is her wide, blue ringed eyes and her hands forming a mask, fingers like teeth soaking in sinister blood.

She had dropped a chain! A heavy, metal chain. It must have been what she was going to use on me. While she is still reeling, blood dripping on her oxford shoes and high pitched curses coming from out between her fingers, I grab the chain. It's a little ghetto for me, a middle class white girl whose never had to use a weapon before, especially not one as crude and cruel as this one.

Foreign to me or not, I've seen movies. I know what in need to do. I swing the chain like a rope, whipping her across her cheek. Blood trickles out her ear.

"Why are you doing this?" I plead to her, and flash the chain again. Sarah is now on her knees. She crawls inside the nearest stall.

"I never wanted to be a part of this! Can't you see what you've done?" I come up behind her and grab her bloody head of hair with one fist. She struggles and screams, finally dropping her hand from her face. Blood drips onto the toilet seat.

"I'm not a violent person," I reason with her, and push her head into the toilet. "I tried to stay away from this as long as I could." She flails and waves her arms. With one foot I step on her hand, then press my other knee into her back. "You just never should have come after me." Leaning a little bit, I reach and flush the toilet. Sarah kicks and bucks. Her shoulders twitch and she tries to shove her head backward. Bubbly screams come from inside the bowl. And then...

it's over.

I feel no pity for her, just remorse that it had to come to this end, and disgust at the blood and toilet water staining my already messy uniform. I really need a bath now.

But I can't rest yet. If Sarah was sent after me, than that must mean Rebecca was the one doing the sending. And Rebecca is much more dangerous than mousy little Sarah.

The game was Rebecca's idea after all. She always did like violence and power. And she was smart, too, which is why she probably sent Sarah after me. She must have known I wouldn't be taken down easily. It's better for her to let us duke it out and then deal with the survivor herself. Only one girl can win in the end.

I move toward the exit I heard her leave through. The exit holding my sweet, sweet freedom from this place. I have to be prepared, I have to be ready to-

The door swings open, and I'm face to face with the tiny Rebecca Peterson. Her trademark bandanna - purple today - forms a homemade headband. Her short hair and delicate features combine to form the innocent, pixie-like facade she hides behind so well. Bitch.

"Oh, hey, Ca-" before Rebecca can get out her fake, time-buying greeting, I grab her wrist and swing it around her body, pinning her arm behind her back. Our face-to-face meeting caught us both by surprise, and the chain... the chain... where is my chain?! Shit! I see it in my minds eye lying next to Sarah's lifeless body. All I have on Rebecca is strength, and I plan on using it.

With my left hand, I push her left wrist up higher and higher into her back. I've done this before, I can do it again. How far do I have to twist again?

"Sarah's dead." I push her into the nearest stall, buying my own time before her arm finally gives away. "Now hold still, so I don't have to break your arm." I lock the door behind us, and press her face up against the door, smearing her makeup into the faded graffiti of who loves who.

"Fine, fine, I'll cooperate." Rebecca winces, but I see her eyes dart and sparkle as she plans. Her right hand tightens around something.

Now just a little more... when will this give way? I push a little harder, Rebecca's hand almost to her hair, and then I finally hear the snap of torn bone and muscle. Her shoulder sags, and her elbow flops. She screams.

"I thought you said you wouldn't break my arm!" Her right hand flails around, trying to grab me.

"I meant I wouldn't break this arm." I grab her right wrist and let her left arm flop. It's useless now. I squeeze her wrist to make her palm open. Inside is a plastic HEB bag. "Is this what you were planning on using on me?" I let the bag flop and drive her own right elbow deep into her spine. No mercy now. I have to immobilize her other arm.

The second time around, breaking her arm will be much easier. I push her elbow higher and higher, twisting her around like a contortionist. Behind my strength is a fury of what she's done, as well as the confidence from what I've just done. And the hope of the finish line, the last burst of energy that this will all be over soon... Snap.

And there it goes. She's worthless now, a floppy, armless freak, and entirely at my disposal. I leave her leaning on her cheek against the door as she cries. She can't open it to run away. Pathetic. I pick up the plastic bag off the floor, and fold it in half.

"What did you think was going to happen, Rebecca?" I fold the bag in half again. "Did you really think you would win, that you could be the last one standing?" I fold the bag in half again. "I never wanted to be a part of this. I didn't jump on your sadistic little bandwagon like everyone else, and I didn't go after anyone either." I fold the bag in half again. Now it's only an inch wide, and a foot and a half long. "But you had to send your little minion after me. You had to include me- even though I was totally content on the sidelines watching!- and I won't go down without a fight." I hold the bag up in front of her face with one hand and grab her dead wrists behind her back with the other. I turn her toward me. "Is this what you were planning on using against me? A fucking plastic bag?? I saw you turn this useless thing into a weapon before. Don't think I don't know how this works."

I rope the bag around her neck like a wide plastic ribbon. Holding both ends in one hand, I tighten it as hard as I can. I use the other hand to steady her half dead body. Rebecca is turning blue. Her head flops back and forth like 'no no no' but I steady her, and tighten the bag even more. She weakens, trembles, and her head flops down a little bit. She's almost gone. Just a few more minutes to make sure she's dead, and then I can leave, go home, and...

The bathroom door opens. Shit! I'm going to have to wait until this person - oh, no, a conversation - these people leave. I count voices. One, two, three, four, five, six. At least six girls have come in. Damn that stereotype that girls can't go to the bathroom alone. I'm just going to have to wait til they leave. I hear them talk. Stupid shit. Boys, and teachers, and TV drama. Blah blah blah. Rebecca trembles and slurs in my arms, and I know she's already far enough gone.

Just a few more minutes of waiting... just let me hear them pee and wash their hands and redo their lip gloss...

"Hey, look at this."

Just another line in the mindless dialogue between the stupid barbie dolls, but my spidey sense tingles again. "Check out what's written on this wall." I peer out between the crack in the stall and see a girl (a junior, obviously, since all the girls in my grade are dead now) with long brown hair and a perfect white headband reading something off the wall of the stall across from me. Those stalls are shorter, and only come up to her nose, so I can see her eyes narrow as she reads. The other girls gather around her.

"Notice to all girls in the St. Jude Catholic School for Girls, class of 2009. The game has started. The rules are as follows: 1. Never pair up to take someone down. Every mark must be made one on one or it doesn't count! 2. No firearms or knives. Let's get creative, ladies! 3. Every death is one point. The person with the highest number of points is the winner, and therefore, the most popular. Let's see if you can take my crown... Signed, Rebecca K. Peterson, Freshman Lady '06, Sophomore Duchess '07, Junior Princess '08, and reigning Prom Queen, 2009."

My stomach sinks. The dumb bitch in my arms posted the rules on the bathroom wall. Did she think she would never get caught?

"What's that all about?"

"This is crazy."

The younger girls continue their conversation. I'm getting restless. This may mean they won't be out of here for a while.

"Ya know, I haven't really seen any senior girls around in a while..."

"Do you think it's real?"

"Hey, something moved in that stall."

The eyes of the six girls turn toward the stall where I stand. Uh oh. What am I going to do? First, I gotta put this body down and prepare myself. I prop the lifeless Rebecca on the toilet seat. Her head flops forward, and, in some sick form of a death roll, her mouth opens and with a retch, she pukes chunky, dark red blood all over the floor. I step back so it doesn't get on my shoes.

Muttering outside my stall. After today, I know low female voices are never a good sign. Through the crack of the stall door, I see the lead girl, a tall giant of an almost-woman with amber colored hair, move toward me. I swing the door open and step outside.

"Hey, what's up?" I put on my best friendly smile. It doesn't seem to be working.

"What are you doing?" The behemoth gets in my face. Damn it, I won't be able to take all of them. My eyes stretch toward the closed outside exit. Just a few steps and I'll be there...

"Just doing what you do in a bathroom." No wonder everyone is glaring at me. I'm a mess. Blood and sweat mark my clothes, and I know I smell like toilet water. Still gotta smile... "What are you guys doing? Don't you have class?" Please leave. Please, please leave. I hold on to the handle of the door behind my back.

"Lunch." The Amazon states matter-of-factly. "What's inside there?" She tries to push past me.

"Oh, I wouldn't go in there if I were you! I have a pretty upset stomach." I smile a don't-you-hate-it-when-that-happens! smile. Hopefully, they'll emphasize and move on.

"Yeah, we heard." The lead girl smirks. She must mean the splatter of Rebecca's puke echoing across the floor. Some of the girls laugh. Bitches. But I'll let them think I had the worst case of diarrhea in the world if that means they don't find the body... "But you didn't flush." She pushes me aside again, and this time my hands separate from the handle.

"I can do it! Really, it's my mess!" I plead with her, but she's swinging the door open. Oh no oh no oh no Her face contorts as she sees whats inside... there's no where to run I'm doooomed...

And then I wake up.